


Rescue 77 Season 2/Episode 3 "Catching Up"

by Firebuff51 (DCMUFics)



Series: Rescue 77-Season 2 [3]
Category: Rescue 77
Genre: 1990s, Action/Adventure, California, Drama, Emergency Medicine, Firefighters, Gen, Humor, Los Angeles, Rescue, Season/Series 02, Trauma, paramedics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-22 20:31:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13174662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DCMUFics/pseuds/Firebuff51
Summary: While Wick looks to explore a potential relationship with his roommate Chelsea, Ryan reunites with an old flame. Meanwhile, an investigative reporter targets the L.A. Fire Authority. Rescue 77 responds to multiple emergencies including a plane crash and a potentially explosive suicide attempt.





	Rescue 77 Season 2/Episode 3 "Catching Up"

**Rescue 77**

 

**Season 2-Episode 3**

 

**Previously, in Rescue 77...**

 

Megan and Bell moved in together, leaving Wick to find a new roommate, which came in the form of an attractive young woman. Wick rode on Engine 77 for a shift, partnering up with Bridges. At the end of the day, each man gained a new appreciation for the others' skills.

 

Monday. 6:10 am.

 

The clock radio snapped on blaring the opening strains of Blues Traveler's _Runaround._ Michael Bell moaned and dropped a heavy hand onto the radio, activating the snooze bar.

 

“No...too early...”, he murmured.

 

His girlfriend Megan Cates was snuggled beside him, her head resting against his chest. A soft, sleepy moan from her brought him around and he wearily opened his eyes. He had almost forgotten where he was. He wasn't used to sharing his bed with another person. It was a new feeling. As he traced his fingers over her bare shoulders, he knew it was a feeling that he could definitely get used to.

 

He buried his face in her raven colored hair and kissed the top of her head.

 

“Time to get up,” he whispered.

 

She groaned and hugged him tighter.

 

“Let's call out,” she sighed, her eyes still closed. “Both of us. Let's just stay here all day.”

 

He yawned as he sat up.

 

“I wish I could. It wouldn't be fair to leave Ryan alone with Wick all day.”

 

She looked up at him with those big, beautiful eyes that always weakened his resolve.

 

“Stay a little bit longer?”

 

“Ah, I was gonna go for a jog. I need to get some cardio in.”

 

She smiled wryly and let the sheet that had been covering her drop.

 

“I got your cardio right here, Mr. Bell.”

 

He grinned, then tackled her as she squealed with laughter.

 

XXXXXX

 

Wick Lobo sleepily padded down the hall from his bedroom, toothbrush tucked inside his cheek.

 

His roommate Chelsea sat at the small dining room table, enjoying a bowl of oatmeal as the morning sun's rays crept through the balcony window.

 

“Morning!” she smiled.

 

“Hey,” he quickly pulled the toothbrush from his mouth and ran a hand through his brown hair. “Morning to you, too! I didn't hear you come in last night.”

 

She took a bite and swallowed.

 

“Got in pretty late. Hey, I wanted to thank you for inviting me to your friends' party the other night. They seem like really cool people.”

 

“Oh yeah, they're uh...pretty cool.”

 

 _Idiot_ , Wick thought to himself, shuffling into the kitchen. He liked this girl, but he wanted to take things slowly. Dating your roommate could be tricky to say the least. Inviting her to Bell and Megan's housewarming party seemed like a safe way to hang out with her, without revealing his romantic intentions.

 

“You know,” she said. “My girlfriend and I are gonna go see _Foo Fighters_ at the Greek Saturday night and we have an extra ticket if you want to come.”

 

Wick smiled to himself as he dropped two Pop Tarts into the toaster before him.

 

“Uh...yeah,” he replied calmly. “I mean, cool. Sounds good.”

 

He shook his head. _Idiot_.

 

“ **Catching Up”**

 

9:08 am.

 

“This better be good, Aguilar. Don't mess it up,” said John Bridges as he and the other members of Station 77's C-Shift took turns tossing five dollars into the blue department issued baseball cap that sat on the kitchen table.

 

Carla Aguilar nervously tapped a pen against her temple as she studied the shopping list in her hand.

 

“No, no. I...it'll be okay. It'll be good,” the rookie firefighter replied. “I think.”

 

Captain Durfee dropped a bill into the hat and rested a hand on the back of a chair as he stared her down.

 

“The first time a probationary firefighter cooks for the rest of the station is a big moment in their career,” he said sternly. “No pressure, though.”

 

Kathleen Ryan tossed in her money and offered Aguilar a reassuring smile.

 

“You'll do fine. And anyway, you can't do any worse than I did when I was a boot. I tried to impress the guys, so I went fancy. I made Beef Wellington.”

 

“How'd it go?” asked Aguilar.

 

Ryan shrugged.

 

“Right before I could take them from the oven, we caught a structure run. I forgot to turn off the heat. By the time we got back, they were like little charcoal briquettes. Took me forever to live it down. I'm sure _you'll_ do fine, though.”

 

Aguilar frowned as she stared again at her shopping list.

 

The dispatch tones rang out, followed by the alarm bell.

 

“ _Station 77, Engine 41, Engine 21, Foam 21, USAR 52, EMS 9, Battalion 9, small aircraft down, 11200 Oakwood Drive, at the golf course, cross street, Catalina. Time out 0912._ ”

 

The firefighters quickly left the kitchen, some sliding the poles to the apparatus floor while others descended the stairs.

 

Bell and Wick were already donning their yellow turnouts as Ryan pulled hers down from the R.A. and slipped off her station boots.

 

Ryan closed her door and Wick guided the large ambulance out of the station and hit the siren.

 

As she slipped on her headset, Ryan glanced over her shoulder at Bell, who sat, smiling, in the back of the ambulance, staring at his helmet.

 

“What's that dopey face all about?” she asked.

 

“I'd say cohabitation agrees with him,” said Wick, turning the large steering wheel as they fell in behind Engine 77.

 

Bell grinned before settling back into his seat.

 

“What can I say? Waking up next to Megan is a great way to start the day.”

 

Ryan shook her head as she returned her attention to the road ahead.

 

“People in love are the worst. All moon-eyed, your brains turning to mush.”

 

“Sounds like jealousy to me,” Bell replied. “I think we need to find our partner a man, Wick.”

 

Ryan stared out her window.

 

“What do I need a man for? I can open my own jars, kill my own spiders...my shower head's nice and strong...”

 

“Whoa,” Wick chuckled. “Somebody's salty this morning.”

 

“I'm just saying, I don't know why we always have to have a partner to complete us. Some of us are perfectly happy being single.”

 

“Come on,” said Bell. “Doesn't everybody want someone to come home to?”

 

Two minutes later, Engine 77 wailed to a stop on the golf course, the pumper's air brakes hissing loudly. Truck 77 stopped behind them as the rescue turned right and parked near the crumpled wreckage of a small plane.

 

“Bridges, pull an inch and a half,” Captain Durfee called as he slammed his door and keyed the mic on his coat. “L.A., Engine 77, Station 77 on scene, Oakwood golf course. We have a small aircraft down, no flame or smoke visible, investigating. Have the assignment continue in for now.”

 

The paramedics pulled their gear from the ambulance and approached the small plane.

 

Two older men in casual attire stood near the open pilot's door, their golf bags laying nearby.

 

“I'm a podiatrist,” one of the men said, stepping forward. “I've already assessed the patient and he appears a bit banged up, but no worse for wear.”

 

“Thank you Sir, but we'll go ahead and check him out anyway,” replied Ryan as she stepped past him.

 

“I'm a chiropractor,” the second man spoke up. “and I agree with my colleague's opinion.”

 

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Bell said, holding up a hand. “Could you please stand over there? Thank you.”

 

Wick placed the trauma bag on the ground and slipped off his helmet as he peered into the plane.

 

“How we doin' this morning, Sir?”

 

The pilot, a handsome man with a familiar face looked over at him with blood trickling down his forehead.

 

“Ah, I'm fine. I just banged my head when I touched down.”

 

“Can you tell me what happened?”

 

“I don't know. My engine just lost power. This golf course was the nearest place that I could find to land.”

 

“Did you lose consciousness at any time? Black out? Anything like that?”

 

“No, no. Just hit my head. My neck does hurt just a little.”

 

“What've we got?” Durfee asked Ryan.

 

“No entrapment,” replied the tall blonde paramedic. “Wick's assessing right now.”

 

Durfee signaled thumbs down to the other firefighters.

 

“Okay, I'll cancel it.”

 

Bell opened the passenger side door of the craft and leaned inside.

 

“Can you tell me your name?” asked Wick as he examined the patient's pupils.

 

“Really?” asked the patient.

 

“Yup. Really.”

 

“Tom. Tom Wells.”

 

Wick and Bell looked at each other.

 

“Tom Wells? The actor?” asked Bell.

 

“Yeah,” the man sighed. “That's me.”

 

“Y'know, I thought that was you,” said Wick as he pulled a cervical collar from his bag. “I loved _Alpha Squad 2_. I've seen it about ten times. Some really great explosions.”

 

“Always nice to meet a fan.”

 

“Mr. Wells, as a precaution, we're gonna place a cervical collar on you,” said Bell. “Can you hold your head straight for me?”

 

Ryan peered into the plane.

 

“Wick, what's his GCS?” she paused, recognizing the man in the pilot's seat. “Tommy? Is that you?”

 

“Kath...Kathleen?” Wells attempted to look at her when Wick placed a hand aside his head.

 

“Keep your head straight for me, please,” Wick reminded him. “GCS is 15.”

 

Bell slipped the collar around his neck and secured it.

 

“You two know each other?”

 

“You could say that,” Ryan smiled. “We went to high school together.”

 

“She's being coy,” Wells grinned. “We were high school sweethearts. We went our separate ways after graduation. You look good, Kathy.”

 

Ryan smirked.

 

“You've looked better.”

 

“I've _felt_ better. Hey, is all of this really necessary? Aside from a little neck pain, I feel fine, really.”

 

“Yeah, Tommy. It's necessary,” Ryan replied. “We'll take you over to the hospital and get you checked out. It's routine. Nothing a big tough action hero like yourself can't handle.”

 

“You always knew how to sweet talk me, Kathleen.”

 

XXXXXX

 

10:22 am.

 

Aguilar carried two plastic grocery bags across the grocery store parking lot, followed by Bridges, who carried two more.

 

“Your work's cut out for you, Aguilar,” said Bridges. “77's firefighters have sophisticated palates.”

 

“Really?” she asked over her shoulder. “Is that why you guys dump hot sauce on everything?”

 

Stanley Two Dogs, the company's engineer, opened a side compartment on the engine as they approached.

 

“You get everything?”

 

Aguilar shrugged, placing a bag inside the compartment.

 

“Well, they didn't have fresh Ancho chilies, so I had to get powdered.”

 

The side door of a nearby van slid open and a well dressed, tanned man who appeared to be in his fifties stepped out, followed by a cameraman.

 

“Can I help you, Sir?” asked Captain Durfee, hopping down from the engine.

 

“Jack Tannon, Channel 6 News,” the man replied, speaking into a microphone. “I'm doing a series on waste in municipal government and I'd like to know why you civil servants are shopping for groceries on the taxpayers' dime.”

 

“Is he serious?” asked Bridges.

 

“I assure you, Sir. I am quite serious. I think my viewers would like to know why a Los Angeles Fire Authority truck is being used to run personal errands.”

 

“We are not running personal errands,” said Durfee in a carefully measured tone. “Firefighters work 24 hour shifts. For those 24 hours, the fire station is our home. We do everything in our home that you would do in yours, including cleaning, sleeping and eating. As such, we need to cook our meals for the entire shift, which is why we're picking up groceries.”

 

The reporter cocked his head to the side.

 

“Then why send an entire fire truck to perform such a minor task? Why not send one firefighter in their personal vehicle?”

 

Durfee folded his arms.

 

“We work together as a team, Mr. Tannon. We ride four firefighters on a rig for a reason. If we send one member of our crew to the store, that leaves us one less firefighter to respond to emergencies with and thus, unable to provide our citizens with the high standard of service that they've come to expect. You see, we're still in service when we stop to pick up our groceries, ready to respond at a moment's notice.”

 

“I have to say,” Tannon smiled insincerely. “to me, this just seems like an unnecessary waste of fuel and resources.”

 

“I can't help how you see things, Sir.”

 

Tannon narrowed his eyes at him.

 

“I don't believe I caught your name, Firefighter...?”

 

“Durfee. _Captain_ Durfee.”

 

“Captain. Thank you for your time. Don't let those groceries spoil.”

 

“One more thing, Sir,” Durfee raised a finger. “This vehicle behind me is an _engine_ , not a truck. I can explain the difference if you'd like.”

 

The reporter nodded as he arched an eyebrow.

 

“That's not necessary,” he replied slowly, before motioning for his cameraman to stop filming and follow him.

 

The firefighters loaded the rest of the groceries into the rig.

 

“Nicely done, Cap,” said Bridges.

 

Durfee shrugged.

 

“I have my moments.”

 

Meanwhile at the hospital, Ryan peered into the curtained off exam area where Tom Wells sat upright, now free of the cervical collar.

 

“Well, you look alright,” she said, taking a seat on the stool beside the table.

 

“You ain't so bad yourself.”

 

She smiled as she shook her head.

 

“Still a charmer.”

 

“So, you really did it, Kathy. You became a firefighter.”

 

“Well, I am my father's daughter. I guess it's in my blood.”

 

“I could always tell how proud he was of you. I don't think he was too fond of me, though.”

 

She laughed, waving him off.

 

“It wasn't personal. No boy was ever good enough for the Ryan girls. You know how dads are.”

 

He swung his legs around so that his feet dangled just above the floor.

 

“So, how _is_ your sister? How's your mom?”

 

“Monica's good. She's a sophomore at CU, now. Mom is...well _Mom_. You remember how she was. Anyway, I've been keeping up with _your_ career. Who would've thought that the boy who was the understudy for Captain Von Trapp junior year would be a big time movie star?”

 

“Well, I did it all to prove the drama teacher, Mr. Henley, wrong,” Wells chuckled to himself. “He told me that I didn't have the chops to be an actor.”

 

Ryan smiled.

 

“Well, you certainly did that.”

 

“Why did we ever lose touch, anyway? I mean we both live in L.A...”

 

“In different neighborhoods, I'm sure.”

 

“Come on, I'm serious. We need to get together. It's been really great seeing you again.”

 

Outside in the hallway, Wick and Bell stood at the ER front desk.

 

“So who knew Ryan went to school with a movie star?” Wick asked, filling out the run sheet.

 

“Not me,” Bell leaned against the counter. “Makes you wonder what else it is that we don't know about her. Heck, what don't you and I know about each other for that matter?”

 

Wick shook his head.

 

“Can a worms, my friend.”

 

Three tones sounded from the radio in Bell's hand.

 

“ _Rescue 77 on the radio, respond to the psychological rescue. 135 Horne Avenue, cross street Sycamore. Time out 1040._ ”

 

“Have dinner with me,” said Wells, hopping down from the exam table.

 

Ryan exhaled thoughtfully. She pulled the notepad from her shirt pocket and scribbled down her phone number.

 

“What the heck? It'll be good to catch up.”

 

Bell stepped into the exam room and peered around the curtain.

 

“Hey, we got a run.”

 

Ryan handed Wells the small sheet of paper.

 

“Call me?”

 

Wells smiled as he looked down at her phone number.

 

“Count on it.”

 

She offered a quick wave before she skipped out of the room after her partners.

 

Wick glanced back at her with an arched eyebrow as they jogged for the exit.

 

Ryan glared at him.

 

“What?”

 

“What do I need a man for?” he replied in a high pitched, mocking voice.

 

“Shut up, Wick.”

 

10:44 am.

 

Rescue 77 pulled to the curb in front of a two story apartment complex. The paramedics retrieved their gear and made their way through the front archway into the courtyard that was situated in the middle of the complex.

 

A young woman with short, dyed green hair ran up to them in tears.

 

“Please, help! Please!”

 

“What's the problem, ma'am?” asked Ryan.

 

“My brother, Raoul. He said he wants to die! He covered himself in gasoline and he's got a lighter!”

 

“L.A., Rescue 77,” Ryan quietly called into the handy-talkie. “Respond LAPD and an engine company to our location.”

 

The woman led them to a staircase at the far end of the complex where a shirtless man sat drenched from head to toe, an empty gas can lay at his feet. The pungent stench of gasoline hung in the air.

 

“Hey, how ya doin'?” asked Bell.

 

The man quickly stood and held the lighter towards them in his left hand.

 

“Get back!” he shouted. “Get back or I'll do it! I'll light myself up!”

 

The paramedics raised their hands and took a step back.

 

“Okay, we just wanna talk,” said Wick. “What's botherin' you, man? Why do you wanna do this?”

 

“Why not? My life is pointless. I lost my job. I worked there ten years! Then yesterday? Yesterday, my girl left me. She just walked out. I got nothin' to live for, man!”

 

“Hey come on, now. That's not true,” said Ryan. “Look. You've got your sister. Look how scared she is. That's why she called us. To come help you. She's worried about you, Raoul.”

 

“It's true, Raoul!” the young woman sobbed. “Please, stop this. You're scaring me!”

 

Her brother fought back tears as he looked at her.

 

“I'm sorry, _mija._ I don't wanna scare you, but this is for the best, you don't need a loser like me in your life.”

 

“Raoul, if you do this, it's gonna hurt your sister worse than you, man,” said Bell, taking a small step forward. “Think about that. Your sister loves you. Whatever you're dealing with, she can help you through it.”

 

The man clasped his hands behind his head as he stared at the ground.

 

“I'm...I'm just so tired, you know? I'm tired of my life.”

 

“I get ya, brother,” said Wick. “I think everybody's probably been there at some point. You kind of wonder what the point of everything is, right?”

 

Raoul nodded, his gaze still directed down at the gasoline soaked pavement.

 

As Wick and Bell kept him distracted, Ryan inched toward the fire extinguisher that was mounted just out of Raoul's sight inside of a nearby hallway.

 

“It's a good thing, though,” Wick continued. “that we've got friends and family who can help pull us through the bad times, right? People like your sister.”

 

“I don't know...I don't know...” Raoul dropped into a crouch.

 

Ryan used the opportunity to remove the extinguisher from it's bracket and set it down in the hallway.

 

“Hey, Raoul?” said Bell, stepping towards him cautiously. “Why don't you put down that lighter and let us help you? We wanna help you. Your sister wants us to help you. Let us do that.”

 

Raoul looked up to see that Bell and Wick had moved closer. He leaped to his feet and held the lighter close to his chest.

 

“No! No! I'm gonna do this!”

 

Ryan lifted the fire extinguisher and rushed forward, blasting him with CO-2.

 

Bell tackled the man and pinned him to the pavement as Wick wrested the lighter from his grasp. Seconds later, two police officers dashed through the courtyard and subdued him.

 

“I'm sorry,” Raul cried, his face resting against the cement. “I'm so sorry...”

 

Wick heaved a sigh as he sat back against the wall and stared at the lighter in his hand.

 

6:11 pm.

 

The firefighters were gathered around the two tables in Station 77's kitchen, laughing and swapping stories as they awaited that night's dinner.

 

“No, I've got a good one for ya,” Bell laughed. “Remember when we rolled on that amputation at a machine shop last month?”

 

“Oh yeah,” Ryan chuckled, dropping a handful of tortilla chips onto her plate.

 

“What happened?” asked Captain Romero as he stepped past the table.

 

“This guy had a saw jump on him and it cut off his left hand...” explained Wick.

 

“Yeah,” Bell continued. “and the blood spatter landed right on the sign that said they had proudly gone a hundred days without an accident.”

 

The three partners laughed uncontrollably.

 

“Paramedics are definitely a rare breed,” Durfee sighed, as he took a place at the table. “Aguilar! What about dinner?”

 

“Ready, sir!” Aguilar replied. She placed steaming trays on each of the tables.

 

Bridges sniffed the tray before him.

 

“What is it?”

 

Aguilar sat down beside him.

 

“ _Enchiladas Suizas_. My mother's recipe. They're amazing, if I say so myself. It's my best dish.”

 

“Amazing?” Captain Romero dumped a helping onto his plate. “I'll be the judge of that. I still can't find enchiladas that come close to my mother's.”

 

The firefighters ate in silence. Aguilar watched their expressions. The suspense was palpable.

 

“Well?” she asked the room. “How are they? Anybody? Wick? Come on, you love to eat. You've gotta have an opinion.”

 

Wick looked up from his plate, chewing thoughtfully. He opened his mouth to speak.

 

The alert tones shattered the silence.

 

“ _Engine 113, Station 77, Taskforce 119, Battalion 9, commercial structure fire. 1889 Alvarado, cross is Euclid. Time out 1819._ ”

 

Chairs scraped the floor as the firefighters pushed back from the tables and began to file out of the room.

 

“Oh come on!” Aguilar called. “This is torture!”

 

“Not as good as my mother's,” Romero said, wrapping his leg around the chrome fire pole. “But close.”

 

He slid the pole to the apparatus floor. Aguilar beamed before following him down.

 

The next night.

 

“Oh my God, is that who I think it is?” Ryan whispered, nodding her head towards a nearby booth in the restaurant where she and Tom had just been seated.

 

Tom smiled and waved politely to a square-jawed, gray haired man who sipped his scotch and waved back.

 

“Yep. Haven't seen him since last year's Oscars,” he said. “Nice guy, but boy, will he talk your ear off if you give him the chance.”

 

“I'm sorry,” said Ryan. “I mean, this is L.A.. It's not like I haven't seen a celebrity before, it's just...I've never seen so many in one place. I feel like I'm in a different world here.”

 

He flipped open a leather bound menu.

 

“Well, if I'm being honest. I took you here on purpose. I may have wanted to impress you. Just a little.”

 

“Consider me impressed, Tommy. Tom? Wait, is it okay to still call you...”

 

“Kathleen,” he laughed. “You can call me whatever you want. See anything you like?”

 

She stared at the menu, searching for something that sounded appetizing.

 

“Uh, well...this...bread sounds good.”

 

He closed his menu and stared at her slyly.

 

“Oh, I know that look,” Ryan smirked. “That's the exact same look that you used to give me when you wanted me to ditch 4th period English with you so we could make out under the bleachers.”

 

Twenty minutes later, they sat on the hood of his black Lexus, eating double cheeseburgers outside of a small fast food shack just off of a busy boulevard.

 

“I can't remember the last time I ate here,” Tom said, licking sauce from his thumb. “I forgot how great their burgers are.”

 

Ryan nodded as she shivered slightly, her black cocktail dress offering little protection from the elements.

 

“One of my partners eats this stuff all the time. Personally, I reserve it for special occasions.”

 

He slipped off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

 

“So this is a special occasion?”

 

She locked eyes with him.

 

“Yep. Definitely special.”

 

They inched closer to each other until finally, they fell into a long, soft kiss.

 

Next shift.

 

5:45 pm.

 

“What's on the menu tonight?” Wick asked as he dropped down onto one of the recliners near the television.

 

“Bridges is making his famous three alarm chili again,” answered one of the truck company's firefighters as he passed.

 

Wick elevated his feet as he leaned back in the recliner.

 

“Ugh. Any of Aguilar's enchiladas left from last shift?”

 

“I can hear you, Lobo!” Bridges called from the kitchen, dumping chili powder into a pot.

 

“That was the point!” Wick called over his shoulder.

 

Bell sat down in the recliner beside him.

 

“Have you noticed Ryan's been unusually quiet since we came on?”

 

“So?”

 

“So? She was supposed to go out with Tom Wells. I overheard 'em at the hospital the other day after we brought 'im in.”

 

Wick nodded slowly.

 

“So is it the good kind of quiet? Like things went well and she doesn't want to jinx it? Or the bad kind of quiet, like the date was terrible and she'd rather not talk about it?”

 

Ryan slapped the headrests of their recliners as she leaned in between them.

 

“Are you ladies having fun discussing my social life?”

 

Wick held up his hands in mock innocence.

 

“Blame Bell. He's the one that brought it up.”

 

Bell snatched a magazine from the coffee table.

 

“Hey, friendly concern for my partner. That's all.”

 

“Uh huh,” Ryan took the magazine from him and settled into the recliner beside him.

 

“ _And now, here's Jack Tannon with his continuing series on wasteful spending in municipal government_ ,” said a news anchor on the television.

 

“Hey, Cap! You're on TV!” a firefighter yelled as several of the members gathered around.

 

“ _Thanks, Barbara_ ,” Tannon smiled, adjusting his tie. “ _Part three of my series focuses on a waste of resources by the Los Angeles Fire Authority..._ ”

 

“Well, this should be good,” said Durfee as he folded his arms.

 

They watched as the recorded exchange between the reporter and Captain Dufee played out on the screen.

 

“ _The...Captain...may have had some good points..._ ” Tannon continued as he reappeared on camera. “ _But...I feel..._ ”

 

“Hey, does he look alright to you?” asked Ryan, sitting up in her recliner.

 

Tannon loosened his tie and wiped his brow.

 

Bell stood up as he inspected the screen.

 

“He's cyanotic.”

 

“Jack?” asked the anchor. “Everything okay?”

 

“He's havin' an MI,” said Wick as he left his chair.

 

Bell stepped towards the fire pole.

 

“The studio's in our first in, Cap.”

 

“Go,” Durfee said reaching for the phone. “I'll call L.A. and let 'em know you're en route.”

 

The anchor stared nervously into the camera.

 

“ _Uh...why...why don't we take a break and we'll be back after this._ ”

 

Two and a half minutes later Rescue 77 cut its siren as it pulled up to the guard shack at the front gate of the Channel 6 studios.

 

“You guys are fast!” said the guard as he lifted the cross arm. “We just called you. Straight back, last building on the left.”

 

Bell waved and guided the large ambulance through the campus. As soon as they had come to a stop, the paramedics pulled the gurney from the ambulance, stacked the necessary equipment onto it and made their way inside the building.

 

“Thank God you're here,” said the stage manager as he led them through the newsroom and into the sound stage. “Jack's not looking good.”

 

They arrived on the set to find Tannon still seated at the news desk, leaning back in his chair, clutching his left arm.

 

“How are you feelin', Sir?” asked Wick as he dropped to one knee.

 

“Terrible,” Tannon grimaced. “Feels like I've got a Volvo sitting on my chest. My...my arm is killing me.”

 

“Okay, we're here to help you,” said Ryan, kneeling beside him. “On a scale of one to ten, with one being no pain and ten being the worst pain ever, can you tell me how bad the pain is?”

 

“Nine...maybe...maybe ten...”

 

“I'm gonna give you some oxygen,” said Wick, slipping the mask over his face. “This should help you feel a little better.”

 

The anchor stood near the desk, holding a hand to her mouth.

 

“What...what should we do, Mort?” she asked, her gaze fixed on her colleague before her. “We're still in commercial...”

 

The stage manager wrapped an arm around her.

 

“It's okay, we'll stay in the commercial break as long as we have to.”

 

Bell placed the BioCom on the desk and opened the orange case. He attached the small antenna and dialed the code for L.A. City Memorial as he slipped on the headset.

 

“City Base, Rescue 77, we are initiating AMI protocols for a male, approximately fifty years old, complaining of crushing chest and left arm pain. Stand by for vital signs.”

 

Tannon suddenly fell forward.

 

“Sir? Sir?! Can you hear me?!” called Wick as he and Ryan caught him. “I lost his pulse.”

 

“Get 'im on the floor,” said Ryan. “He's in full arrest.”

 

“City Base, Rescue 77,” Bell called. “be advised, our patient is in cardiac arrest. Stand by.”  
  


They eased him onto the floor as Ryan kicked the rolling desk chair out of the way.

 

Wick ripped open the man's shirt and began chest compressions.

 

“Starting CPR,” he said urgently. “One, two, three, four, five...”

 

After the first round of chest compressions, Ryan had Wick pause so that she could cut open the patient's undershirt with her shears. She dropped them, then retrieved the defibrillator paddles and pressed them to his chest.

 

“V-Tach,” she said, reading the heart monitor. “Shocking at 360.”

 

She set the defibrillator to deliver 360 joules of energy to the man's heart.

 

“Everybody clear!”

 

The patient's body jumped as he was shocked. Ryan looked back at the monitor.

 

“Nothing. Shocking again at 360. Clear!”

 

Again, Tannon's body jumped. The anchor gasped before turning away.

 

“Converted. Sinus rhythm,” said Ryan, once again inspecting the monitor's screen.

 

“Got a pulse,” Wick called.

 

“What's...what does that mean?” asked the stage manager. “Is he gonna be okay?”

 

“We're doing all we can for him,” Bell replied, before returning his attention to the radio. “City Base, Rescue 7-7, we now have a sinus rhythm...”

 

10:21 pm.

 

Ryan and Bell sat on plastic chairs in the ER hallway, waiting for a bed to open up as a drunk snored loudly on their gurney a few feet away.

 

“12 runs,” Ryan sighed as she rested her head against the wall. “What a day.”

 

The drunk snorted and fidgeted briefly before returning to a deep slumber.

 

Bell yawned.

 

“Tell me about it.”

 

Wick approached carrying a small box with three white paper coffee cups inside.

 

“Sorry, cafeteria's closed,” he said, handing the cups to his partners. “Had to hit the vending machine.”

 

Ryan crinkled her nose as she stared down at her cup.

 

“Blech. Vending machine coffee.”

 

Wick sat down beside Bell.

 

“It's hot and it's got caffeine. That's all I care about.”

 

“So seriously, you're not gonna tell us how it went with you and Mr. Movie Star the other night?” asked Bell, sipping his coffee.

 

Ryan cracked a half smile.

 

“It went well,” she said. “And that's all you're getting out of me.”

 

Bell smiled before taking another sip from his cup.

 

“Fair enough.”

 

Two orderlies rounded the corner wheeling Jack Tannon on a bed towards the elevator.

 

“Hey, I know you guys,” said Tannon.

 

The three partners stood up as the bed stopped in front of them.

 

“Well, you're looking a lot better,” said Ryan.

 

“They told me...I almost died,” Tannon sighed. “You three...you saved my life. I can't thank you enough.”

 

“We're just glad we could help,” said Wick, shaking his hand.

 

“I'm still gonna do another story about the fire department,” the reporter said.

 

“Really?” replied Bell.

 

“Yeah, about the amazing work you paramedics do. In the interest of fairness, of course.”

 

Ryan smiled.

 

“Of course.”

 

Tannon waved as the orderlies wheeled him into the elevator. Megan made her way down the hall.

 

“We have a bed for your patient,” she said, looking as exhausted as the paramedics. “ETOH with a head lac, right? Number four is open.”

 

“That's our guy,” said Bell, handing her a form. “Long day?”

 

She slipped an arm around his waist as she watched Ryan and Bell wheel the patient down the hall.

 

“Oh, you have no idea.”

 

Bell hugged her and laughed.

 

“I kinda do.”

 

Saturday night.

 

Wick and Chelsea sat in their seats at the Greek Theater, waiting for the _Foo Fighters_ to take the stage. It was a clear night and the sun had almost set.

 

Wick searched for something to say, wanting to fill the silence between them before it became any more awkward than it already was.

 

“So, thanks again, for inviting me,” he smiled.

 

“No problem,” Chelsea smiled. “My brother couldn't make it and we didn't want the ticket to go to waste. Geez, my girlfriend should be here any minute now.”

 

“She'll probably be here soon,” said Wick, hoping against hope that she wouldn't show so that he could be alone with Chelsea.

 

Chelsea stood.

 

“Ah! Here she comes!”

 

A thin woman with red hair and blue framed spectacles waved as she made her way through the crowd.

 

The two women embraced and then engaged in a very non-platonic kiss.

 

“Wick,” Chelsea said proudly. “This is my girlfriend, Joy.”

 

“Girlfriend?” Wick replied, finally recognizing the obvious. “Right. Nice to meet you.”

 

“You too!” Joy beamed. “Chelsea says you're a great roommate!”

 

“Oh, uh...thanks. I try.”

 

The lights went down as the band appeared on stage and music began to blare from the speakers.

 

Chelsea and Joy screamed and cheered happily as Wick slumped down into his seat.

 

He shook his head.

 

“Idiot.”

 

**END**

 

_**Rescue 77** is property of Spelling Television. Any similarities to actual persons, places or incidents is purely coincidental. All firefighting and medical information may not be accurate._

 


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